


babe, his yoga pants, and gene's poor heart

by LydiaOfNarnia



Series: five times, one time prompts [1]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Flexibility, Innuendo, M/M, babe is very flexible, gene is... not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 15:58:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12016137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaOfNarnia/pseuds/LydiaOfNarnia
Summary: Babe blinks at him, eyes wide and innocent – as if he isn’t staring at Gene upside down, full weight supported on his arms while he holds open the microwave with his feet. “Oh,” he says after a few seconds, as if just realizing this might not be normal. “Sorry. Am I in your way?”“I didn’t know you could do that, Babe,” Gene emphasizes. He wonders if he’s going crazy. This isn’t a normal situation, is it? There’s no way Babe has been able to do this all this time, and somehow never mentioned it…“I’ll get outta your hair,” Babe says – and pulls the bag of popcorn from the microwave with his feet, shuts the door, and walks out of the kitchen, still upside down.Gene stares after him for a long moment. He feels his eye twitch. Slowly, he turns to the fridge, pulls out a bottle of water, and retreats to the sanctity of their bedroom. He's starting to wonder if there are some things he hasn't learned about Babe.(Five times Babe's uncanny, sort of weird flexibility came close to killing Gene... and the one time Gene actually killed Babe.)





	babe, his yoga pants, and gene's poor heart

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, the characters in this fic are based off of their fictional portrayals from the miniseries Band of Brothers, and I mean no disrespect to the real-life veterans!
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [renelemaires](http://renelemaires.tumblr.com/)!

Gene has learned a lot about Babe in the two months since they moved in together.

He thought he knew his boyfriend beforehand, and he wasn’t wrong. He knew Babe’s favorite movies and his favorite bands. He knew what he liked to eat after a rough day at work. He knew that he’s willing to put ketchup on everything, even pancakes, and that he thinks it makes his hair redder. He knew about Babe’s weird love-hate relationship with Barney the dinosaur.

In short, he knew a lot about Babe, including things he never would have learned about anyone else. Living with someone, however, is an experience of a whole other kind. There are things you never want to discover about someone, but you wind up finding them out anyway.

For example: Babe doesn’t wear shirts while he’s working out.

This isn’t something Gene never wanted to know, and it’s definitely not something he has a problem with. Gene is sensible enough to appreciate Babe’s affinity for shirtlessness as the gift that it is, and one that just keeps on giving.

The thing about this is that Gene can no longer count the number of near-heart attacks he’s had when he’s walked in on Babe in a very unusual position.

Babe works out. This is a thing Gene knows he does, but unlike most of Babe’s friends, he doesn’t have a membership at the local gym. _(“I hate it there,”_ he told Gene once. _“I feel like everyone’s staring at me. Plus the machines feel all sweaty? You ever notice that?”_ Gene doesn’t know how a machine can feel sweaty, and he’s happier not asking.)

Babe’s “working out” comes in two very different forms -- improvised calisthenics in the middle of their bedroom floor at night, or acrobatics.

One thing Gene never knew about Babe before moving in with him was just how absurdly flexible his boyfriend is.

He’s learned. _Par Dieu et tous ses anges,_ Gene has learned.

* * *

 

He doesn't even realize anyone else is home until he walks into the living room to find his shirtless boyfriend with his legs folded behind his head.

He screams. He can't help it. He's just walked in on a scene from _The Exorcist,_ and Gene didn't even _know_ spines could bend that way. As a shocked Babe tumbles over, limbs flailing, Gene scrambles back until he hits the wall.

Immediately he feels embarrassed by his overreaction, but it's too late to apologize now. Babe is groaning, curled on the floor with one hand massaging his aching back, and when he looks up he seems almost as baffled to see Gene as Gene is to see him.

“Hey,” says Babe after a few seconds. Gene blinks.

“The hell are you doing, Heffron?”

“Yoga.” Slowly, he straightens up, wincing at an onslaught of aches courtesy of the fall. He's going to have a lot of bruises in the morning, which Gene feels bad about, but what does he think is going to happen when he’s just wearing _yoga pants_ \--

Very, very well-fitting yoga pants.

It's not like Gene can be blamed, really. He was ambushed. Babe isn't even supposed to be home right now, let along half naked in the living room, bending his body into poses that would make a contortionist proud. He straightens up, staring down the end of his nose at his boyfriend. Babe blinks up at him and offers a little wave, baffled by the strange reception. (Not that Gene can blame him -- has Babe ever heard him shout that loud before?)

A moment stretches between them. It is as loud as a leaky tap, the drone of an air conditioner, the snarl of a lawn mower outside the window. Though neither of them speak, their silence says volumes.

“Are you oka--” Babe starts, but Hene cuts him off with an abrupt, “Fine.”

“Really?”

Gene forces all the dignity he can muster back into his shoulders. “You,” he says to his boyfriend, “need a mat.”

Babe frowns. “I had a yoga mat, but --”

“If you crack your head open on the coffee table, I ain't helping you. Get a mat,” Gene says, and turns on his heel. He's all too eager to get away from Babe and his strange calisthenics, but something stops him. That something is not his own libido, whatever rush of exhilaration the sight of Babe’s bare chest may have given him.

He turns his head, casting a frown back at the man still sitting on the living room floor. “And put some clothes on!”

Babe grins at him. Gene just huffs and turns away, hoping his boyfriend can't see the flush on his face. 

* * *

 

Looking after Maggie Heffron for a weekend is a lot more fun than Gene thought it would be.

Maggie is like her brother in a lot of ways. She proudly sports an abundance of freckles, bright red hair, and a talent for getting into trouble. She's spunky, sarcastic, a total tomboy, and is better at Call of Duty than Babe and Gene put together. She's also only twelve, so they probably shouldn't be letting her play Call of Duty, but Babe says she won't tell if he won't.

(“Sibling pact,” he explains to Gene. “She betrays me, then she betrays herself. We'll both get murdered. It's a deadlock.”

Gene isn't sure how sibling relationships work in Philadelphia, but he has a new understanding of the Heffron clan.)

Maggie has picked up Babe’s habit of calling him Doc. She talks her brother through French braiding her hair while watching baseball on TV. She gets mud on the knees of her jeans, tears her t-shirts, and swears she has nothing to do with the egg that fell from the balcony to land on Landlord Dike’s car. It doesn't take Gene long to decide that he likes Maggie a lot.

Something he likes a bit less is one of the other many ways Maggie takes after her older brother.

“Okay, bend your elbows a little. Just a little!”

“I know, Babe!” Maggie retorts, and launches into a prompt cartwheel. It’s executed perfectly. She tumbles head-over-heels, arms bent and legs straight, to land on the other side of the room. Gene looks up from his laptop and frowns. He knows something is going to get broken the longer Babe and Maggie rehearse in the middle of the living room. Unfortunately, their apartment’s cramped quarters leaves them with no other options.

Maggie straightens up, ponytail askew, and beams at her brother. Her brightly colored leotard is worn in some places, but it’s well-use is clear. Babe, in nothing but his sweatpants, looks much less the accomplished gymnast, but he steps back and readies himself all the same.

Gene pretends a chill doesn’t shoot down his spine as he watches his boyfriend bend over backwards, body forming a perfect arch. He holds the position for a split second before raising his legs in the air. His handstand looks effortless, and the walkover he performs seems to take no energy at all -- even when he knocks one of Gene’s textbooks off the coffee table in the process.

Like twins, the Heffron siblings shoot Gene identical sheepish looks. Gene just rolls his eyes. “You break it, you replace it.”

* * *

 

“I'm telling ya, it's not really that hard!”

“Say that one more time,” Gene grunts out through clenched teeth, “and I'm gonna kick you in the head.”

Babe grins at him the same way he would if he were looking at an adorable puppy, not his boyfriend threatening him with physical harm. “Aww, Gene,” he chuckles, “you're not bendy enough!”

Gene tries to twist around and feels the muscle in his hip clench up. To his dismay, Babe has a point. His body refuses to bend the way Gene wants it to, the way he’s seen Babe do a million times before. A simple twist shouldn’t take this much effort, but Gene groans as he turns himself right again.

“You're doing your best,” says Babe, who has his left leg raised as high as his head. Gene didn't even _know_ it was possible to lift your leg that high and still stay standing. “You're just not getting it. You just need a little more practice!”

“Anymore practice,” Gene says with a grunt, “is going to kill me!”

He topples over just then, unable to catch his balance. He winds up sprawled on the carpet, flat on his ass, glaring up at his astonished boyfriend. It's not a bad view from down here by any means -- the angle makes Babe’s abdomen muscles stand out sharply, and his sweatpants hang low on his hips in a way that makes Gene drool -- but he's in no position to appreciate it.

He tries to stand up, but his calf cramps. He tumbles back to the ground with a holler of pain.

“Hmm,” says Babe. “Very possible.”

He still has his leg over his head.

* * *

 

“Oh, come on! You call that a fuckin’ tackle?”

“My grandma would be able to stay standing from that, and she's dead!”

“My grandma could tackle you better than that, and she's ninety!”

The neighbors are probably going to complain.

At this point, Gene decides, if they haven't gotten used to Babe being loud, they should probably move somewhere else. Babe won't be learning volume control any time soon, and his screaming habit isn't going away. Gene might have to send their neighbors a fruit basket on New Years Eve.

He closes his eyes and tries to focus on cooking dinner. If these two keep this up, then Gene will be eating the entire thing himself; he’s more than willing to make them get take-out. Just to be vindictive, he adds an extra dose of chili pepper. If Babe doesn’t want to be chugging milk in the middle of his meal, maybe he should learn a bit of self-control.

(Gene can be vindictive now, but Babe puts up with him during basketball season. He’s not as above sports-mania as he likes to think he is.)

_“JESUS FUCKIN’ HELL --”_

Gene jumps, dropping his spoon into the pot of soup, and rounds on his heels to holler at Babe -- only to be confronted with his boyfriend doing a backflip over the couch. His swinging leg comes close to hitting Bill in the face, and his arms flair for a second before they find purchase on the ground. Either way, he manages to nail the landing, and folds over himself to get upright again. No sooner is he back on his feet than he starts to bounce up and down, hollering at the TV, at Bill, and at God.

Gene closes his eyes and turns back to his soup. He’s figured out by now when it’s better not to ask.

* * *

 

Another thing Gene has learned about Babe, that he really could have lived with never knowing: Babe is a show off.

“Hey,” calls his boyfriend’s voice from behind him. “Watch this, Gene!”

The words “watch this” out of Babe’s mouth rarely mean anything good. He said the same thing that time he tried to climb down from the balcony, and the time he thought he could catch a whole slice of pizza in his mouth. He said “watch this” before he wound up breaking his wrist making pancakes. When Babe says “watch this”, some catastrophe is imminent.

 _“Don't,”_ Gene says sharply, not turning around. He doesn't know what it is, he doesn't know why, but he knows he doesn't want to see it.

His warning is concise, but it comes too late. Not even a second later there is a crash, a yell, and the sound of something shattering on the floor.

Gene hisses through his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. He kneels exactly what he's going to see when he turns around. He just wishes he didn't.

“Your grandma is gonna kill you,” Gene says. “She gave that vase to us as a housewarming gift.”

“To be fair,” Babe says, sounding strangled, “she does know me. What’d she think was gonna happen?”

Gene sighs and at Last forces himself to turn around. He is not surprised to find Babe half-draped over the coffee table, shirtless body folded in on itself at an alarming angle. He is surrounded by broken shards of porcelain, and from the way Babe’s leg is twisted in the air, he'd guess he can't get out of that position.

“Next time, don't try showing off,” he mutters, and makes his way over to rescue Babe before he can really get hurt.

* * *

 

“That's it,” Gene declares one day. “I'm going to do it.”

For his part, Babe looks intrigued, and a little alarmed. “Do what?”

“A cartwheel. I'm going to do a goddamn cartwheel.”

He's already taking off his shoes. Slow understanding dawns on Babe’s face; his expression shifts from confused to alarmed, settling on something caught between aghast and horrified. He leaps off the couch, but a sideways look from his boyfriend freezes him before he can take another step.

“Uhh -- Gene -- maybe you shouldn't…”

“I'm going to do it,” Gene says. “I've put up with enough that I'm going to do this.”

With that, he strips off his shirt. Babe blinks in dumb bafflement for a beat before catching the ball of fabric flying towards his head. His gaze swivels between it and Gene, who’s stretching his arms. “This is a bad idea.”

“Probably.” Gene steps back to avoid hitting the table. “Hasn’t stopped you.”

“Because I know what I’m doing, Gene, you’re gonna break your neck --”

It’s too late. Gene has done it.

His feet leave the ground, and for a split second he’s sure he’s pulled it off. He feels his weight come down on his hands, but he locks his arms up to keep himself from buckling. He stays in the air for one second that feels like an eternity, and he has just enough time for a flash of euphoria before the inevitable happens.

Babe sees his boyfriend wobble in the same second Gene realizes he's going to fall. There is no time to resteady himself, no chance for him to catch his balance. Babe lunges forward with a holler of _“Gene!”_ just the misguided gymnast begins to topple --

And gets a foot to the face for his trouble.

Babe doesn't catch Gene, but he does hit the ground a second after him. It's a pretty impressive fall; his head slams into the carpet before the rest to his body has even started going down. Gene can't appreciate it as much as he likes, because he's pretty sure he just threw out both hips, but it's good to know Babe’s flexibility hasn't failed him.

“Ow,” says Gene. Babe doesn’t respond.

He pushes himself up on achy, shaking arms, and takes stock of himself. Nothing is broken; he’ll probably have some bruises in the morning, but he’ll live. His dignity is shattered, which is the least surprising thing of all. That is, Gene thinks, the biggest casualty.

Then he looks at Babe and realizes, _no, it really isn’t._

“Oh no. _Babe!”_

Babe has claimed to have a hard head so many times that Gene has wondered before if it’s even possible to knock him out. As it turns out, it is.

When Babe comes to a few minutes later, a cool compress is being pressed to his brow, and his head is cradles in Gene’s lap. He stirs, groans, and scrunches his face up as if he smells something awful.

“Easy,” Gene soothes. “Don’t try to move for a minute. You’re okay.”

When Babe finally opens his eyes, his pupils are both the right size, and his eyes fix on Gene immediately. Knowing what a good sign this is, Gene lets out a sigh of relief.

“Let’s make a rule,” Babe mutters, blinking up at his boyfriend with groggy eyes. “No more gymnastics in the house.”

Gene huffs, smirking. He can think of a few locations where Babe’s flexibility would be very appreciated; but for now, he just nods his head. “That sounds like a good idea.” he replies, placing a gentle kiss on Babe’s brow. “Last thing we want is for someone to get hurt.”

His pride is injured, Babe’s head is bruised, and he’ll never be able to look at his boyfriend in sweatpants again. Gene decides that the casualties are worth it.


End file.
